


Natural Disaster

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touya wants to ask if he predicted this as well. (prompt: yearn)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Disaster

They say the Kingdom of Clow's High Priest's predictions don't always come true but, in recent times, his rate of success (but could you wholeheartedly call "success" something like predicting a disastrous sandstorm, a year of bad crops or a season in which the princess would be unhappy? Yukito thinks, how fast people forget about the prediction of joy and abundance) has been nothing short of miraculous.

Strange to be thinking about natural disasters right now, Yukito contemplates, and it's something he never predicted. Natural disasters while Touya holds his hand, the back of it pressed hard against the marble floor of the Great Hall.

`There is something I want to ask you,´ Touya says, running his fingers along Yukito's wrist and the underside of his arm, tender but distracted.

His voice is a bit too much like the official tone he uses when he is being _King Touya_, despite the intimate moment – Yukito feels the kind of heat their bodies emanate, binding together, he feels Touya's knee pressed to his thigh, a touch that is unassuming but rather like Touya's longing curled into a question mark – and Yukito wonders if they have made the transition correctly, from friends to King and Priest to whatever this moment means, whatever Touya meant but grabbing his arm and kissing the corner of his mouth; the expression on his face afterwards, like Touya himself was just every bit of surprised as him.

`You can ask me anything, Your Majesty,´ he replies, _Your Majesty_ is an afterthought and a trap and the only way Yukito has of drawing a line and seeing if Touya wants to cross it or not.

Touya shakes his head, pained. The weight of his hand on Yukito's shoulder, resting sadly, becomes unbearable.

`You are good at seeing the future. Did you see this as well?´ Touya asks, his voice catching emotion inadvertently, carefully covering _something_. His voice like dusk trapped in a cave underground. Dark, volatile, aching to be freed.

`This?´ Yukito asks.

He finds that suddenly words are important. He has grown used to Touya's silence and his own, the way they know each other by instinct and heart, the way a wild trust in each other mean they can do without words. Yukito wants them now.

Touya offers no words. He places a kiss against the hollow of Yukito's neck, careful and terrified, like adoring the statue of some ancient deity, that kind of reverence, that kind of fear of losing him. It's that what makes Yukito tremble in response, not the touch of lips over his skin.

`This,´ Touya repeats, voice damp and wounded with desire. He slides one hand under Yukito's robes, under his shirt and places it over his stomach, fingers spreading in a semi-circumference, accompanying the movements of breathing in and breathing out, fingertips listening for heart-drumming.

`Did I see this in my predictions?´ Yukito repeats, trying the question out on his tongue, unable to tell which answer would be a lie, and which the truth. He asks: `Would it change anything if I said yes?´

Touya raises one eyebrow. He props himself on his palms – his knee brushes Yukito's leg and he somehow is missing it already, the warmth of the king's body so close – to take a better look at Yukito.

Yukito looks away, over Touya's shoulder and at the ceiling, the dome, the sphere, the detailed paintings covering it. Yukito wonders how many years it took to build. It has always been here, this place. Touya has always been here, since he can remember, all his life, and Yukito has trouble imagining not being the one by his side, in battles and in official ceremonies, attending to his little sister when she is ill, or giving advice to Touya about new plans. Maybe they are too many of these things, to be _this_, too. Yukito experiences the fear of change, and it's a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

Touya puts his fingers against his cheek and makes Yukito look at him.

`It wouldn't change what I feel,´ he says. `But I admit I'd like it if this wasn't part of your predictions. That this was something about me and you only.´

He kisses him. Yukito opens his mouth under Touya's and soon Touya is leaning against him again, letting his weight and the weight of his days and decisions and worries find a place to rest. He makes a falling, sighing noise that Yukito swallows whole, the taste something new, something not on his books of magic and certainly not in his predictions.

The visions were there – a king pressing his priest against cold stone floor, Yukito saw those images as if outside his own body, he heard the noises of love-making, the rustle of clothes and scrape of knees against white marble. He witnessed how it would go: the hand upon his hip, the hand between his legs. The moment when Touya would turn him over and press his mouth to his nape, everything that comes after that, the heat, the dampness, what the change would do to them, it might have been written somewhere, it might have been chosen before they chose it, but Yukito is beginning to believe otherwise. He heard his name in Touya's voice and Touya's name in his own and held it as some sort of chant, holy words, salves against evil times. His visions did not have the warmth of the back of Touya's neck when he places his hand there.

(It might have been chosen before they chose it, but they chose it, all the same.)

No prediction could have prepared him for the reality of it.

He breaks the kiss and smiles at Touya.

`There are many things that will always be about you and me only,´ he tells him and twists one finger into Touya's dark hair, watching his eyes as the King studies the sincerity of his answer. Yukito wants to say, your High Priest will never mislead you, your counselor will never betray you, the man who sees the future will never deceive you. But that's not it, that's not what is happening. Yukito wants to say, _I who love you_, and then any promise that rhymes with that verse.

He says nothing. Touya kisses him again, brushing their hips together and they both hold their breath for a moment. If Yukito could see himself, as if outside his body, and see the angle of the King's shoulder as he buries his head in it and smells the familiar scent, see the light rushing from the high windows, slanted over the place where their hands entwine, above Yukito's head – it all may look like a vision, a prediction -

\- but it doesn't feel like one to Yukito, not with Touya holding his hand like that, fingernails digging into his palm, even a Line of Fate can be redrawn.


End file.
